


Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary...

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing Mary, F/M, Impersonation, Implied Johnlock, M/M, Pre HLV, Roleplay, angsty smut, post tsot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is well of aware of John's desire for Sherlock, so she decides to surprise him by engaging in this little sexual fantasy with him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter really just serves as a sort of angsty introduction, if you want to skip straight to the smut, there is plenty of it in Chapter 2 ;)

Mary knew from the moment she first met John that he was a broken man. Although she didn't know at the time what exactly it was, she could tell that something - someone - had hurt that man so badly it had shattered his heart and torn apart his soul. She tried to pick up his pieces and mend his heart to the best of her abilities, but she was aware that she would only ever be able to offer comfort, not healing. Mary was fine with that arrangement - she loved John, dearly, and she would gladly take whatever he could offer her, accepting his past, knowing full well that her own secret past had left her broken, too. They were both wounded, scarred, in a world that didn't understand, so they took to each other.

  
Although he never explicitly stated so, Mary soon found out that it had been Sherlock - the infamous, brilliant, sociopathic yet alluring consulting detective - who had broken John's heart and turned him into the mess that he was. Probably by jumping from a building and killing himself, maybe already long before that when he hadn't returned John's undeniable affection, she suspected.

When Sherlock returned, when he denounced his death and wandered back into John's life as if nothing had ever happened, the doctor was a wreck - and once again it was Mary who was left to pick up the pieces. She wanted to punch Sherlock for what he had done - but John already took care of that for her, numerous times. She wanted to yell at him, ask him how he dared hurt the most wonderful man on earth so, how he couldn't possibly see what was right in front of his eyes. But one long stare into his pleading eyes, into the battered soul behind that poised exterior, told her everything she needed to know. Him and her, they were alike. He did love John, more than was good for either for them, and he wanted nothing more than know him cared for, loved like he deserved. And now that he had Mary, that Mary was obviously GOOD for him - something he didn't think himself capable of - he wasn't going to ruin it. John was hers, he was too late, and he wouldn't dare be anything but a good friend from here on out - to both of them.

Mary accepted his decision, admired his determination and was even relieved that she wouldn't have to enter this battle she stood no chance of winning. But ever since Sherlock's return, although he had forgiven him and quickly settled back into their old routine of solving cases together, John sometimes seemed even more broken, even more desolate than before. Was it because he realized he had gotten himself into a situation he couldn't possibly resolve now without hurting one of them? Was it because now Sherlock was even more unattainable than ever before? Whatever it was, Mary hated seeing the sadness in John's eyes, knowing full well that SHE would never be able to fully restore the happiness in them that must have once been there.  
Although she was certain that John loved her, truly cared for her and would never hurt or betray her, she could see that he was still clearly pining for his best friend, in a way that was so much grander than the love he shared with her.

She could also see the desire in her husband's eyes, a desire he could never hide completely when looking at the detective, when sharing a casual touch with him - a desire that would sometimes overcome him even when he was making love to her, she could tell.   
  
Mary wasn't a jealous woman - and how could she be jealous of Sherlock, who had claimed John's heart long before she even entered his life? Mary was a compassionate woman, though, she sympathized with John despite what would be called rational and she would do anything to make him happy, no matter how complicated things were.

Lately, it had been especially tough on her husband. Ever since their wedding - the day that sealed their fate, shut the door on any might-have-beens or could-have beens for good, and the day - of all days! - when Sherlock finally revealed some of his feelings - ever since then, John had been surrounded by a sort of grief not unlike the one he was sulking in when she first found him. He had been fine during their honeymoon, keeping up the pretense of happy newlyweds, proving his love and dedication to Mary emotionally and physically. But from the moment they had returned to their London home, he had withdrawn from her. Now they hadn't heard from Sherlock in nearly three weeks, and John hadn't so much as touched her in a deliberately intimate way in just as long.

Mary didn't know what to do - if she could give him Sherlock, take away the detective's inhibitions and awkwardness, and rid John of his moral compass and marital restrictions to unite them in a way they had clearly both desired for so long - if she could give him that, if just for one night, then she would. That's how much she loved John and wanted him to be truly happy. As she dwelled on the thought and how impossible such an endeavor would be, she suddenly had an idea that she couldn't decide whether it would work but that she was determined to pursue anyway.

After some necessary shopping, Mary was prepared to put her plan into action a few nights later. Earlier in the day she had texted John from work:

  
_I want to conduct a little experiment tonight. Be home at 7, wait for me in the living room? - MW_

_Love, I've had a long day, don't know if I'll be up for any experiments. What are you talking about anyway? - JW_

_Please, darling, just humor me and go along with. We need this. You need this. Please - MW_

_Fine, I guess. See you at 7 - JW_

 

John was sitting on the sofa, clenching his hands nervously. What was Mary up to? He was aware he had neglected her in the past few weeks, that he hadn't tended to her like the loving, caring husband he should be. He felt awful for how he had behaved, but at the same time he simply couldn't shake this mood, this sadness that seemed to be his constant companion now. He loved Mary, he had found a wonderful, charming wife in her and now they were even building a family together! His best friend had turned out not to be dead after two years of making everyone believe just that - shouldn't he be the happiest man on the planet right now? What was wrong with him? In a way, he felt even more depressed now than he had when had thought Sherlock was dead. Sherlock... if only he hadn't committed suicide - no matter how fake it had been! - they could have stood a chance. He would have never met Mary, never would have proposed to her, never would have tied himself down to another the way he did before he could realize Sherlock might just reciprocate the feelings he had been harboring towards him for so long. And now it was all too late. Ironic - he was stuck now in this domestic bliss that he had always wanted, hadn't he? And yet it was something clearly different hat he craved...

He heard the door open and swallowed hard, trying to shut Sherlock from his thoughts and be a good husband to Mary, whatever she might have in mind. He hadn't heard her approach, and suddenly felt a silk scarf tied around his eyes from behind, robbing him of his vision. "Mary, what the bloody...?", he startled, but she simply put a finger to his lips and he remember that he had basically promised her to play along, unconditionally. When she walked around the sofa to stand in front of him, he thought her steps sounded different than usual. Not her normal, small shuffles, more like long, powerful strides. Why the change in demeanor? "Christ, you're starting to deduce every tiny detail now, aren't you? Just like Sherlock", he chided himself.

When he felt Mary's presence right in front of him, still silent, his confusion increased even more as her scent tickled his nostrils. Not her go-to perfume, not anything she had ever worn before, he was sure. Yet the scent was strangely familiar...it was rather herbal? A luxurious richness with a hint of musk. Cologne. Then it hit him. SHERLOCK'S COLOGNE! Before he could express his bewilderment, she startled him again by wedging a knee onto the sofa between his thighs, leaning down by putting her weight on it and kissing him. Mary generally wasn't an aggressive kisser, she would usually let him take the lead, but now her lips nipped at his with a demanding force, her tongue finding its way into his mouth with ease and determination. She kissed him fiercely, passionately and in a way that he had always imagined being kissed by another pair of lips...another perfect cupid's bow...STOP, JOHN! Focus.

Bringing his hand's to Mary's hips for support, he felt unfamiliar fabric beneath his touch and - unable to see - he decided to roam her body inquisitively, moving his hands up her sides to find out what exactly it was she was wearing. Trousers. Soft material with a stiffness to it. A crease in the front. Dress pants. A Belt. Leather, much thicker and sturdier than the mostly decorative, thin ones she would sometimes accessorize with. A crisp shirt. Tucked into the trousers. Dress shirt. Button down. A man's shirt. Slowly, it dawned on John. This was an outfit exactly as Sherlock would be wearing it. His cologne, his clothes - was she trying to impersonate Sherlock? Was that why she had blindfolded him? Why would she do such a thing? And where was this little act going?


	2. "Sherlock"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the smut. This kinky adventure might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it is my solution to the whole John-would-have-to-cheat-on-Mary-to-be-with-Sherlock-dilemma. Enjoy!

Despite his confusion and the obvious awkwardness of their situation - he still couldn't wrap his mind around the somewhat disturbing yet deliciously naughty fact that his wife was apparently impersonating another MAN - SHERLOCK FUCKING HOLMES - to appeal to his fancy - John couldn't help but start feeling aroused at the idea.  
  
After all, he HAD promised Mary to play along with her game, hadn't he? And she wouldn't be doing this if she did not want to, if she was repulsed by the idea. He had always been aware that his feelings towards Sherlock must be painfully obvious to the careful observer, but he had never once considered that his sexual desires would be just as easily deductable. It wasn't as if he was gay - he certainly loved the female body and had never once before been attracted to another male. Until Sherlock, that was. Suddenly, it didn't matter that they both possessed the same anatomical parts, that engaging in intercourse would involve certain acts which had repulsed him before. Suddenly, these body parts of Sherlock, these acts, seemed more desirable than anything else he had ever experienced, and it wasn't because he was gay, but because it was Sherlock... and he so desperately wanted to feel him, taste him, touch him in the most intimate ways possible.  
  
Considering the circumstances, he decided for himself that this was probably the closest to that particular fantasy he would ever get, so what was the harm in getting some enjoyment out of it? Pulling Mary - Sherlock - closer to himself, squeezing her - his - bum tightly, he marveled at how easy indeed she was making it for him to imagine, to indulge, to blur the lines and trade one lover for another.  
  
As their kiss grew more heated and the pressure of the knee between his legs almost became unbearable against his growing erection, Sherlock suddenly straddled him, taking his wrists and holding them behind his head firmly while kissing his neck ferociously, almost possessively, sucking and biting in ways that would most likely leave bruises but that were oh so delicious. He let out a low groan and felt wonderfully helpless with his hands restricted.  
  
Urging his pelvis upward in hopes of increasing the friction on his now throbbing cock, he was met with hips rocking against his, seductively, suggestively. He gasped when he felt what could only be a bulge in Sherlock's pants, and as his hands were released in response he let his fingers trace the outline of a large, hard cock straining against those ubiquitous - and bloody sexy - dress pants. An undignified moan escaped his mouth as he considered the obvious implications of this discovery, and he didn't think he could possibly stand another minute trapped in his tight trousers.  
  
Sherlock seemed to have noticed his state of despair, as instantly he could feel long, elegant fingers fumbling with his belt, undoing his trousers and freeing his stiff prick with one swift motion. John thought he might just pass out with pleasure as, using his precome as lubricant, those magnificent hands finally started stroking him in long, accurate motions - just like he had imagined countless times before. Heady with need, the doctor didn't think for another second and gripped Sherlock by the shoulders, pushing him off him, to the ground and onto his knees before guiding his divine mouth towards his cock by the nape of his neck. Sherlock let the tip of his tongue glide up and down, teasing and exploring before taking him whole without further hesitation. Encouraged by John's breathy moans, he bobbed his head up on down, sucking him hungrily and without reservations - as if he had been doing it all his life. Behind his blindfold, John could clearly see Sherlock's supple lips wrapped around him, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he worshipped him with the same dedication he attributed to everything he was tasked with. "Bloody hell...I...Oh god, I'm going to...", he managed a warning, but Sherlock didn't retreat, allowing him to come into his mouth and - unlike Mary - greedily swallowing every last bit of him. Just like he knew he would.  
  
  
  
  
  
Mary felt empowered as she made her husband orgasm like this, as she took on the personality and demeanor of the great Sherlock Holmes and discovered she quite enjoyed this change of pace, freeing her from her usual bedroom persona; the soft, feminine, submissive routines she had created for herself. She was rather aroused by being the aggressor for a change, and by the notion of seeing John through Sherlock's eyes. Even swallowing his come - something she never did for anyone, as a matter of principal - had not only been necessary to stay true to character but even somewhat enticing in its naughtiness. She could tell that John was enjoying himself too - he seemed to have taken to the idea of her role play without much hesitation, which was a relief considering her previous worries that his pride or denial might hinder them.  
  
So far, their act had been easy, however. Nothing she hadn't done before, nothing John hadn't done before, at least technically. She knew this would change now, and she was slightly nervous at how her husband might react, whether he was emerged enough in his fantasy to go where she wanted to take him.  
  
After they had both caught their breath, her still on her knees between his thighs, Mary pulled John's head down towards her, framing his face with her palms and kissing him tenderly. He tangled his hands in her hair, caressed her neck and she knew that right now, in his mind, her locks were black and her neck was pale, her eyes - albeit closed - were stormy grey and her features sharp and stunning. She kissed him like she thought the detective would - methodically, experimentally, and filled with years of pent-up affection and unspoken words.  
  
Finally, she broke the kiss and, in a graceful motion, stood up between John's legs. She took his hands and carefully placed them on her sides, where her dark burgundy dress shirt was tucked into her black trousers and framed by a thick leather belt. She then took to undoing said belt, knowing full well John could make out her actions by their sound alone. She unbuttoned her trousers and pulled down her fly, reached inside and freed her hard cock. It was long and thin, beautifully shaped, state of the art silicone with a hard core and softer exterior for a true to life feel that was almost eerie. It had adapted and retained the heat of her body nicely and with its straps hidden underneath her trousers the sight and feel of it was almost enough to make herself believe it was a real extension of her body.  
  
She could see John swallow nervously as she put both hands on the back of his head and gently guided his mouth towards her, stopping only when her cock brushed the side of his face lightly. He tentatively opened his mouth, letting his tongue explore hesitantly at first, then more curiously up and down her length. Finally, he enveloped her prick with his mouth and took as much of it as he could, a muffled moan and his already re-hardening cock clear indicators of his arousal.   
  
It was an utterly beautiful sight - John worshipping her with what could only be described as selfless abandon to his most secret and overpowering desires. His fingers digging into her hips for leverage, he moved his head up and down ever more feverishly, almost expertly - and Mary could hardly believe he had never done such a thing before. Watching him in this act of utmost dedication and lust, she loved her husband more than ever before, and simultaneously her heart broke for him, for Sherlock, and for their great love lost. She wished she could let Sherlock see John through her eyes at that very moment - let him see what powers he held, what he was missing out on, what he could have had.  
  
  
  
  
  
John had never thought it could be so arousing to have his mouth filled with Sherlock, to know how humiliating the sight of him must be and not give a damn because it was Sherlock, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for that man. He was aware of his still exposed penis, now fully hard again, as he gave the first blowjob of his life and wanted nothing but MORE. More of this man, more of his cock. He wanted to feel him everywhere and just the thought of Sherlock finally taking him, making him his, was enough to make his cock jerk and his arse clench with anticipation.  
  
As the hardness was withdrawn from his mouth he frowned at the loss but was quickly distracted when long fingers gripped his hands and pulled him up, then started ridding him of his clothes. Once he was completely naked, except for his blindfold, he felt exposed, aware that Sherlock was still meticulously dressed, and that he was completely at the smart man's mercy. Hands and lips caressed him all over, their softness a sharp contrast to the welcome friction provided by fabric as Sherlock pushed his clothed chest, legs, hips deliberately close to him. John's breathing was now labored, every nerve ending in his entire body on maximum alert. His voice was hoarse, thick with lust and arousal, as he whimpered: "Please... Please take me. I...I need you to...fuck me" The doctor was embarrassed by this statement and by his neediness, but he couldn't dwell on the feeling as he knew it had never been more true, and more desirable.  
  
He was guided a few uncertain steps before being turned around pushed to bend over what seemed to be the back end of the sofa by strong, powerful hands. He moaned out loud at the sensation, and the thought of being so undeniably dominated made his cock twitch wildly. The same hands who had just shown him into place where now gentle, elegant, massaging his backside and his buttocks before one of them slid down between his cheeks and softly pushed on his entrance, teasing lightly. Never having been touched there by anyone but himself, but having imagined Sherlock's fingers in that very spot numerous times, John bucked at the sensation and then let out a cry so desperate with want he was almost ashamed of himself.  
  
The finger withdrew, and for a moment he thought he might have conveyed the wrong message, before he heard a soft click and the finger returned - slick with lube now, massaging around his rim purposefully. John arched his back, indicating he wanted more, and was instantly rewarded when the long, thin finger pushed inside of him, exploring him lazily. Soon one finger wasn't enough anymore, and a second was added - then a third - stretching him open, fucking him slowly and leaving John wreathing with pleasure. How many times had he watched those pale, boney fingers that were now buried inside of him, had imagined exactly this while trying to hide his desire - now he could finally FEEL them, and it was incredible. But he wanted more, was panting for more, so much more.  
  
As if answering his prayers, the fingers left him - open and gaping - and he could hear the tube of lube again, then slick sounds as Sherlock got his cock ready for him. He must be a sight - naked, panting, probably flushed, bent over the sofa and offering his needy arse to the most beautiful, stunning man he had ever laid eyes on - who probably still looked perfectly composed, immaculate and calmly in charge in his expensive outfit.  
  
John finally felt the cool tip of Sherlock's prick against his hole, and, nodding his consent, he was entered in one swift yet overwhelmingly gentle and careful motion, causing him to omit a serious of unintelligible sounds. Although the sensation was novel, and uncomfortable at first, John pushed into it with the knowledge that he was filled by Sherlock Holmes right now, and if he was honest with himself that was truly all he had wanted ever since he had first met that mad genius.  
  
After letting him get somewhat accustomed to his current state of being, Sherlock started pulling in and out of John with more leverage, more speed and more determination, hitting his prostate and causing him to shiver with pleasure and joy. "Fuck me... harder...please...take me", he moaned, no longer caring how needy he sounded. Sherlock complied, and soon he was pounding into John, giving the doctor just what he had asked for.  
As he felt his earth shattering orgasm approach quickly, John reached down to stroke himself along with the rhythm he was being fucked at, and almost instantly his mind went blank and his body quivered and shook with the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced, his mouth releasing a single cry: "Sherlock!"  
  
  
  
After he had collapsed on the sofa, still overwhelmed with the sensation and unable to move or process a single thought, he had no idea how much time had passed before he felt soft fingers free him of his blindfold - an accessory he had gotten so used to by that point he had almost forgotten about it entirely and an ample mouth kiss his chastely. He opened his eyes and looked into Mary's loving eyes. She was clad in her dressing gown and smiled at him affectionately. "Thank you", he mouthed, knowing that these two words would be the only ones either one of them would ever speak of this encounter, and at that moment, he loved her more than he ever had before. Almost as much as he loved someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always make me happy... :)


End file.
